


Polly’s Wardrobe

by orphan_account



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Reader, Crossdressing, Gay Smut, Historical Crossdressing, M/M, Smut, idk?, just Edwardian smut?, male reader - Freeform, top!Tommy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When you and Tom finally get the house to yourselves, you indulge in a shared fantasy—which may or may not involve borrowing from Aunt Polly’s wardrobe.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Male Reader, Tommy Shelby/Original Male Character(s), Tommy Shelby/Reader
Kudos: 35





	Polly’s Wardrobe

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place around 1907/1908 so this is pre-France and pre-war and all that. Tom is about 17-18, and the idea is kind of that you and Tom are close childhood friends. Only, you’re a little closer than just friends. Anyway, one night you’re over at the Shelby’s and Tommy’s convinced Polly to give you boys the house to yourselves to “hang out.” You two use the time to experiment with a little kink you’ve been pondering on for a while. P.S. I did not proof read! Sorry :P

The room was hot, like it always was in the summertime. Not so hot you couldn’t breathe, but hot enough that Tom’s face glistened when he turned beside the candle flame. From your place, lying on your side, perched on the bed, he looked wonderful. His poetic hands scribbling words you couldn’t read with black ink, his hair hanging down over his eyes in tiny damp tendrils, looking like he always did; so deep in thought and meaningful, like he wasn’t writing partly-butchered sentences in French, words he had forgotten how to use since he stopped taking classes. You could just drown in your adoration for him and spend the whole night watching him. But after just a second, his hand stills and his eyes flicker about the room. He hears it, just as loudly as you do, the silence singing through the whole house. Not a voice, not a clatter or a clank, just the old wood settling and the sound of total nothingness.

“You reckon they’re gone?” He asks, his baby blue eyes finding you, glancing over you and the skirt draped over your legs like you’re a painting he’s just seen for the first time, just to settle on the cigarette in between your fingers. You snuff it out on the corner of his desk and smile. A nod and nothing more, that’s your only response. His teeth capture his bottom lip and he lets his eyes trace you head to toe again. His hand is reaching out to touch you before he even realizes it, grasping your hip and bunching the fabric of Polly’s skirt in between his fingers. It feels wrong in his stomach, knowing how she wears the very same skirt which is now lying over your bare body, which he is grasping tightly and running over your skin, but the thrill of it is overpowering. He doesn’t want to stop, just pulls it up and up until the lace at its hem is brushing over the tops of your thighs. He gasps quietly to himself when he sees the lace brush your cock.

You don’t have to say anything to get him up and into bed with you, as he’s instantly stumbling out of the chair and between your legs, tearing his eyes off of Polly’s lace to kiss you. It’s needy, he kisses you like he can’t get enough of you. Your hands are on him, running over his chest and onto his back, feeling the damp linen of his shirt as it bunches and pulls over his muscular body. You can’t tell if you want him to take it off or you like the feel of him through the fabric. When he pulls away, he’s breathing heavy and his lips are plump and pink like a girl’s. He’s sweatier now, and he’s crawling off you like he’s forgotten how to function, helplessly moving his limbs like they’ve become jello.

“Fuck, Y/N, give me a second,” Tom stutters. You sit up and watch him as his fingers grasp the doors of Polly’s wardrobe and tug it open. As soon as the doors are open, his eyes are prancing over every piece of clothing while his fingers how undo the buttons of his shirt. So much lace, miles of hand-dyed cotton and expensive silks, fabric and wood buttons, hand-sewn embroidery on the hems of skirts or the tops of stockings and built into each end of her black corset, little feathers sewn over every bone in bright red thread. Tom grabs it like his hands are drawn to it and tosses it to a pile on the floor, where he throws a few other skirts and Polly’s nicest pair of stockings, the only ones with no tears or patches.

You watch from the bed, squinting in the candlelight, as his shirt slides down his tanned arms and soon too go his trousers. He’s only bare for a moment before he’s dipping his legs through the waist of an old pair of drawers, adorned so heavily with cream lace you can hardly see the sheer cotton they’re made of. He ties the string right around his waist and throws the rest of the pile onto the bed. “Dress up, yeah?” He’s got half a smile as he says it. “She won’t know.” You don’t hesitate.

Moments pass and soon you look right whore, with her black, above-the-knee stockings tied over your legs with ribbon garters and even one of her corset covers strung over your bare chest, buttoned down the front and tied at the waist with a little champagne ribbon. You’re layers of ruffles and lace, and Tom’s put as many flowers into your hair as would stay put, which he pulled off her hats. He’s got flowers of his own, too, which compliment so well the redness burning in his cheeks. He, too, looks a beautiful mess, dressed in his aunt’s drawers and her nice corset. It doesn’t fit him a bit, but he still twitches from the thrill, the embarrassment and taboo, the excitement fizzling in his stomach as his hands hold your thighs tightly and your cocks hardly brush. His mouth tastes like the caramels he stole from the kitchen earlier and his hair smells like candle-wax.

“Y/N, please,” he whispers against your lips, his mouth leaving yours to catch a breath. You can feel the spit still connecting your mouths, and you let out the quietest moan. High on Tom’s breath, you whine and push your hips up, the both of you gasping at the sudden sensation. His cock is leaking already, leaking onto the drawers which do nothing to cover him, only form the prettiest of curtains around his protruding erection. You want to suck him, to taste him, but before you can formulate the thoughts into actions, his hand is fisting into your hair and tugging you over onto your stomach.

“Thomas,” you gasp, letting your face press into the pillows as he tugs up the layers of petticoats tied around you, draping them over your exposed ass like a display, like the ornate lace was made just to frame your sweet hole. “Shh, Y/N.” He says. His hands grasp your cheeks, tugging them apart so he can spit warm and wet against your hole. He lets it drip for a second before he leans in and licks it back up, dragging his tongue over your wet hole solidly. Your whimpers are loud, but muffled by the pillow as you push back, silently begging him to do it again. And he does, he does even more, this time let’s his tongue stop and play with you, flicking back and forth, dipping into you, even lets his mouth close around you to suck at your asshole until your cock is soaking Polly’s clothes. He moans quietly against you as his tongue wiggles about in your loosening hole, tasting the musky, forbidden, delicious flavor of soap and skin and pure asshole. He only pulls away to wipe his chin and to watch as his spit drips down to your balls. He grabs your balls in his hand, lathers them with the drips, massages them and returns to tongue-fucking your lace-decorated hole. He stops when your whines are high and breathy, like you’re going to cum already. He sits up on his knees and gives you one good spank, wipes up his spit from your ass with the lace of Polly’s petticoats. “Fuck, not yet baby.” He says, his voice low but shaky.

“Wanna suck you off, Tom,” you gasp out, pulling your head up from its throne of pillows to peer back at him. He smiles for just a second, then climbs off the bed and walks ‘round til he’s beside your face. The candle is behind him, but you can still see his face, his beautiful face, and his rosy nipples peeking out over the top of the ill-fitting S-bend corset. You could see the patch of hair beneath his navel and his thick cock standing proudly, hard and leaking and begging you to taste it. You do, as his hands thread through your flower-decorated hair, you lean out and let your tongue wander in circles around his tip. He sighs in content, muttering something, but you don’t catch it. You just keep licking, feeling globs on precum smear across your tongue. You lap it up and open your mouth, moaning softly as you let his hands guide you down onto him. He’s salty and hot, and your jaw strains just a little as you open up for him.

“God, good boy, Y/N.” he says with a jittery voice as he feels your soft mouth swallow him down as much as will fit. Your fingers play in the patch of hair above his cock, brushing through the dark curls, then you wrap your hand around his base. “God, Christ, you’re a good fucking boy, Y/N.” You keep bobbing your head and moan around him every time his fingers tighten in your locks. When he starts to thrust is when you start choking, tearing up and sputtering around his cock. The noises seem to spur him on, as he moans a little louder and tried harder to make you gag. When he finally lets up, you gasp and cough, now dripping spit down your face and struggling to get a breath. “Fuck, let me fuck you, darling boy, let me—“ he grabs you by your chin, lifting your red and blotchy face, watches your tears glisten for just a second before he figures you’re okay. “Let me just—.” He’s just as out of breath as he moves back onto the bed, urging you once more to lay on your back. He reaches down onto the floor awkwardly, grabbing his trousers and searching the pockets for a second before he finds a little jar. It’s olive oil, you assume, and lay back quietly as you spread out and offer your body to him.

In just a second, you feel one of his fingers again at your hole, massaging softly in circles before he presses into you, exhaling shakily as he feels you open up around him. You gasp, naturally tensing for a moment before you will your body to relax and press down onto his finger. “God,” you swear, listening to Thomas’ breathing and focusing on the pleasure of his finger moving slowly in and out. It’s been a while since he last fucked you open like this, but your body still loosens up around him fairly easily. You can’t help your small whines and the jutting of your hips to his in-and-out fucking rhythm. His free hand runs up your body and plays with your nipples through the lace of the corset cover, which does nothing to hide you. As his finger prods deep in your add, his other tugs and plays with your hard little nipple—you’re moaning now. And when he adds a second finger into your pink, swelling hole, your moans only get louder. Reaching to hold onto him, you look down at his flushed face and your hard, red cock, legs thrashing beneath fabric as you try and fuck yourself harder.

You go to cry out his name, but your breath disappears when he leans up and sucks the tip of your cock into his mouth. He gives it the same treatment as your asshole, sucking gently like he’s drinking from you, licking in and around it, savoring you like you’re made of candy. When you catch your breath, you can’t help the loud cry you let out. His eyes flutter shut beneath pretty eyelashes, and suddenly there’s a third finger playing with your asshole. Just as he sucks at your cock, his fingers jab at the perfect angle and you’re certain he gets a good dose of your precum fed directly into his mouth.

Just as you go to warn him that you’re close, he releases you, both with his hands and his mouth. He sits back and moans as he looks down at you, all a mess, dripping, fucked open and desperate. He leans up and once more your mouths collide, this time the kiss flavored like cock. You use this moment to flip your positions, landing on top of Tom with your legs straddling him and his cock pressed right up against your ass. He gasps, but doesn’t protest, only watches as you hike up your skirts to expose yourself again and sit up a little to lead his cock to your hole. He holds onto your hips and sighs happily, melting into the bed as you slide down, your hole swallowing him up so easily. You moan so slutty as your fingers run along his corset and up his neck, where they stay for a moment, as you hold on tight and continue slowly moving up and down again.

“Y/N,” he moans, fingers digging into your hips as he refrains from fucking up harshly into your ass. He stays still and lets you adjust, let’s his eyes and his fingers travel over your pretty body, feel your skin and touch all your most sensitive parts, like when both his hands release your hips and instead massage your cock and balls, playing with your soaking wet tip and practically massaging the cum right out of your balls. It doesn’t take long for you to speed up, for you to start bouncing quickly, turning and adjusting your hips slightly until you find the right angle. Then you go faster, moaning and whining as his cock hits your spot with nearly every thrust. His hand is still massaging your cock, warm and tight, milking you. Your hands are scratching into his chest, and his free hand is holding your hair as he mutters words of endearment and encouragement. “Come on, baby, come for me,” he says, “come all over yourself, all over me too, Y/N.” You can’t respond with words, but you respond with gasps and a harsher pace. Tom is swearing now too, likely close to his climax as well, but you get there first as you curl over and cry loudly, watching as your aching cock throbs and spits out thick cum all over his hand and stomach, some on Polly’s corset. You cum long and hard, so hard you can feel it pulsing, gasping breathlessly, still fucking down onto him. He curses into your ear, low and so turned on as he cums too, filling you up with his warm seed.

You collapse onto his chest and lay silentlywatching the flickering candle flame until you can breathe again, long after his soft cock has slipped out of you and the rumbling pleasure in your veins has mellowed out.

“We fucked up big time didn’t we?” Tom asks quietly after a while. “She’ll know. I think we’ve ruined half her wardrobe.”

He’s right, but you choose not to think about it right now. “It’s okay, Tom.” You whisper, closing your eyes and drifting into the warm aura of his body. His hand pets your hair so softly, so lovingly. He sighs. “Yeah, you’re right.”


End file.
